"Find a frosty leaf, make my day, make me happy," I says to myself. It's nine a.m., 25 lonely degrees outside. (Old Molino Road, I believe). The cold's about the same here inside the command module too, pleads my precious but durable toes numbing stoically. (Yes, Old Molino Road). Stop! Quickly. Shoot old red truck in grassy field. The lightly sown hoar, the rime, the frosty dew seems to melt by the second, dwindling under a bleaching cloudless sun. For a moment, I watch a crystal patch lose its protection, disappearing as the unsympathetic shadow turns and drifts away. Demonstrating, convincingly, what will become of any frosty leaf today.